The Band
by Joel182
Summary: Fozzy is a successful group. However, to achieve such a success, something of great personal value has to be sacrificed. Or gained. SLASH WARNING! Multi-pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE NAMES USED IN THIS STORY. WWE AND VINCE DO. I ONLY OWN THE PLOT.**

**Enjoy :D

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WWE Productions is the top dog when it comes to the business of music itself. Most musicians wait their entire lifetimes to even be allowed into the lobby of the colossal enterprise. Many wait two lifetimes in hopes of signing a contract. Out of the sheer billions who step through their door, WWE Productions only signs less than a handful to its one year starter contract.

Like their cohorts before them, Fozzy – a five man band – was more than determined to make their mark in the big leagues. They did every show possible, met every impossible deadline, sold every album and demo they could all in the hopes of garnering the attention of WWE Productions. While most other production houses went out and scouted hot new faces, WWE Productions didn't waste time doing such menial chores. Instead, they left the scouting to the desperate artists. Enter Fozzy.

Nearly four years had passed before the daughter of the former CEO of WWE Productions, Stephanie McMahon, went on a whim to a small house show on the lower ends of Miami, Florida. The opening band was nation popular Fozzy. They came out to the tune of some two thousand strong rave-seekers, and in layman's terms, brought the house down. Being the billion dollar princess, Stephanie sought out the band backstage and made them an offer they couldn't possibly hope to refuse. A ten year contract with WWE Productions.

Overnight is how quickly the name Fozzy became an international icon. Now three years into their contract, Fozzy was earning more and worth more than every other music icon combined – and that of course included the late, great Elvis Presley. However, despite their fame and fortune, the band mates had more than their share of cut throat losses and blows to their personal life.

First off...


	2. The Band: The Vocalist

**POV #1**

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**I **am not the lead singer of the band called Fozzy. I am simply the man married to Fozzy's vocalist, Chris Jericho. If that brings on the onslaught of any disappoint, then please don't continue on.

**Now** while I am not the typical run-of-the-mill fanatic, it would take a person solely composed of obliviousness to not be able to associate Chris Jericho with the popular five man group. His face was slapped onto every magazine cover, every featured show, every piece of propaganda imaginable the moment the word Fozzy was ushered. Fozzy is Chris Jericho. It is a fact that made him hard to miss. And hard to dislike.

Quite frankly, I fell in love with the man on Fozzy's poster during the band's second year of fame. I was about fifteen when I first heard of the band. One song and I was hooked. And then came the crush on the lead singer. At first – like everyone else - I thought their bassist Randy Orton was quite the charmer. However, after a while his golden glow dissipated as his arrogance became unbearable. That's when Chris Jericho moved in. I remember the first time I watched him speak on TV. He was being interviewed about the success of some world tour, and he spoke so eloquently that I thought it would be nice to hear that voice every day.

For three years I followed the band with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. I bought all the tickets needed to see their local shows. I bought most of the stuff they sold. And then I got the chance to move to the city that the band resided in. New York. After passing with full scholarships, my best friend and I packed up and never looked back. Being a savvy person, Jack was able to get a hold of a job that suited us both.

Working at a flower gift shop.

**While** most people would frown on that, I love making flower arrangements and Jack's in love with the cash register. So it fit like a glove for both of us. The Fozzy fever soon died somewhat – or merely simmered to a low flame – as the year went by and soon I became completely engrossed in the love of putting flowers together to make heart-warming bouquets. Then the year hit its sixth month. And Chris Jericho walked into the store.

"_Hi there." He spoke just like he would on TV. But he was talking to Jack, while I stood in the back area trying to overcome the shock. Fozzy's vocalist was at our store. "I'm here to pick up a bouquet of lilies." _

_Jack looked over to me and I stared back at him. It took me a while to realize that I had been standing there holding Chris Jericho's bouquet of flowers in a bridal fashion. I stuttered on something and then sort of forced the lilies onto Jericho. I remember him tossing me a smile and a low scoff. And I clearly remember the feel of my face turning beet red. _

_He took a while to scan the arrangement, and after picking at it childishly, he handed it back to me with that gorgeous smile planted firmly on his face. Those lose-yourself-in-me blue eyes were peering right at me and for the love of all things decent I couldn't bring myself to just look away. _

"_Y-You don't like it?" To this day that will the dumbest thing that I have ever said. An idol comes into my store and the only thing I could say was 'you don't like it'. _

"_It's not for me." He replied much like he would on TV. But the smile was different. "It's for you." I hadn't noticed, but the bouquet was back in my hands. "Would you like me to take you to dinner tonight?" He slightly tilted his head. "Say around seven?"_

**That** happened one year ago. Now I'm living with Chris Jericho. And yes, I'm legally married to him. I never thought for one second that there was anything strange, or wrong about meeting someone, dating them for a about twelve days, moving in with them right after and then getting married in the course of eight weeks. The idea that Chris and I being together was something short of pure fate had never once settled anywhere near my mind.

But then our anniversary came. And Chris never showed.

When I entered this relationship, I knew it wasn't going to be all peaches and creams. Fozzy was not successful because they sold music. They were successful because the group put time and effort into it. And being the face and name of the group, Chris had to be there more than anyone else. I understood that perfectly. With that in mind, I buried myself in the school work that never seemed to let up. Despite being married to a multi-millionaire, I still worked at the gift shop as the resident flower arranger. Putting the delicate blossoms together relived any and all stress my life slapped me with. But it wasn't the anniversary that knocked me down. It was the layman's reply of "Don't let it bother you" when it did bother me. Not the anniversary. The picture.

The one he hid in his office drawer. That was what propelled me to seek out advice, and hear Jack say—

"_It's his ex-wife?" He drew in a deep breath after I nodded. "Why does he still have a picture of his ex-wife?"_

"_He said I shouldn't let it bother me." The doubt was clearly there. _

"_Shouldn't let it -" He collected his thoughts, "It should bother you. You're his fucking wife!" _

_I drank some more of the hot chocolate that Jack had bought me. He was always good with knowing what I needed when I had lost myself. _

"_Does he still talk to her?"_

"_Yeah." I nodded again. "Randy told me that she's married to the CEO of Fozzy's label."_

"_Levesque?" Jack thought for a while. "Stephanie fucking McMahon is Jericho's ex?" _

_I nodded again. "Apparently they met during high school, and they carried it over to College. He proposed to her right after, but between his work with baby-sitting Fozzy and her father's disapproval of the whole thing, they just spilt and called it a day."_

_Jack gave me that 'hmm, very interesting' look before sighing. "I think there's still love there Evvy." Strangely, it's when he calls me by my nickname that I know he's serious. "You better watch yourself. I'm not going to say that Jericho's a bad guy, but I've been suspicious of him ever since you told me that you two eloped and got married." He leaned closer to me. "Any hint of doubt Evvy, I want you to promise me that you'll walk. Okay? If he comes home later than usual, or he doesn't answer your calls, I want to you to label that as a warning. And the next strike means he's out." He peers at me for a length of time. "Promise me you won't let yourself get hurt."_

_I nodded again. _

**Two** weeks later, Chris missed our anniversary. And he didn't answer any of my calls that night.

I don't make it a habit to get nervous over little things. However, Jack's words were doing their fair share of breaking me down. A week went by and Chris didn't come home. It was expected as he was travelling with the band, but he didn't make any effort to keep in contact with me. In one year we went from calling each other every night to every other night to never. After the month's tour was over, Chris returned home. And as much as I would have loved to say that I called it a day and hung up the cape, I can't because he came home to find me there waiting. And he handed me the bouquet that I had finished making that day. He apologized soon after for not keeping in contact. Then, after sex, he apologized for missing our anniversary. But I never got a reason. Or maybe I just didn't want one. Then in just seventeen days, my fears came true. I had come home to find Stephanie McMahon in our kitchen. She was clad in nothing but a bath robe.

My bathrobe.

**Jack** loaned me the bed that I had originally slept on after first coming to this city. We rented an apartment together, but after I left, I gave him the money to buy another one. He said it was out of sentiment that he never took the money and left the place. It's only now – when my life's falling apart – that I truly understand that sentiment. Before Chris, but for Chris. This is the place I called home.

"Did he explain why she was there?" Jack's made dinner two nights in a row. I offered to take over tonight, but I started crying again, and we ordered Chinese.

I shook my head.

"Oh Evvy." He sounded hoarse and sad. I felt like I had let him down. Once again, he had to be picking up the pieces that I was breaking down into. "Why didn't you just leave when you felt something was wrong?"

"I wanted to." I forced back the urge to cry again. Just talking about it made me sad. "I saw the signs. He wasn't calling. He wasn't answering. He wasn't talking. I saw all those problems, but I still kept going. I kept thinking that maybe I was just being irrational. I didn't want to come off as being immature."

"Evvy, you'll be twenty in a week. You're mature enough."

"But I trusted him. I never thought he'd do something like that." I was crying again at this point. "He loved me."

"But not as much as he loved her huh." Jack always knows the right thing to say. But his timing could always use a little work.

"He wanted to say something to me but I wouldn't listen!" I felt the sting of desperation kick in. I was just making excuses at this point. "What if that was his explanation? What if he wanted to tell me what was going on right then and there but I was too stubborn and angry to -"

"Do you hear yourself?" Jack hardly got angry. Especially with me. "Chris Jericho is nothing but a lying, cheating bastard! Get that through your skull now Evvy! It'll be better for you." At this point I'm sobbing. "Trust me."

That night, Jack offered me a comforting shoulder. But I couldn't bring myself to betray Chris like that. Even if he had already done the same to me.

**Sunday's** are normally the slowest days at the gift shop. However, we got a large order for hypothetically a truck load of elaborate arrangements. The work saw me punching in for overtime and being the only person left in the store. It was cold outside, and I thought of calling Jack for a ride. But then I recall—

_/My phone was back at the house. With Chris./_

I decide to grin a bear it. Walk home once I finished this last arrangement. The door chimes open and I lit up thinking it was Jack. But it wasn't Jack. It's Chris holding a bottle of champagne. I scowl at him and turn to head back, but he stops me just by touching my arm.

"What do you want?" Was that venom running off my tongue? It tasted bitter.

"I called you for three days straight," He takes a seat on the chair that belongs to me, "only to realize that your phone was in the house all that time." He draws out a deep sigh and puts the bottle down beside my final arrangement. "So I figured that my best bet was to hold you to your work long enough for me to come and find you here."

I blink for a second and glance at the surrounding flower pieces. "You made this order?" I was truly in disbelief. I had underestimated Chris Jericho.

He nods. "Let me just clear the air here Evan." I've heard this serious tone before. It's the same one he chose to use when I found that picture. And when he told me 'don't let it bother you.' It's the tone that has no room for arguments because it's so brutally honest. "I don't love Stephanie McMahon. I love you. I'm not married to Stephanie McMahon. I'm married to you." He sat up a bit straighter. "And because I'm in love with you and because I'm married to you I've made it my sole duty to always be there for you, to always take care of you and to never, ever hurt you." He sighs again. The strong tone lowers a bit. "And I've broken that last rule. Fozzy's on the verge of becoming something bigger than everyone else. Something immortal. And because of that, I was struck with a hard choice. Either give Fozzy the push it needed and risk losing you or put it all down to be with you. I chose to risk you. And I'll admit Evan, I thought I had it won. But I was stupid." He exhales loudly while wiping his face of whatever laid on it. The back room light shows me the small stream of tears. And my guard comes crashing down. "I didn't see how much my not being there was hurting you. I didn't notice that you had started to lose faith in me. To lose trust in me. And my bringing Stephanie into the whole mix without any thought of your feelings pushed you out of my reach." He leans towards me. "And Evan, that scared me more than anything else. The realization that I might have become nothing to you terrified me to the point where I had lost my mind. But that's when it dawned on me Evan. The reason why I decided to put you first." His hands grasp mine with a gentle thumb running over the small gold band that is still wrapped around my left ring finger. "It's because I know that once I do, you'll always be here with me. Just like we promised."

The majority of what Chris said had already flown over my head because to be quite honest, and sort of cliché—

He had me at 'I love you.'


	3. The Band: The Bassist

**POV #2**

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**I** hate this silence.

Being the bassist in Fozzy, I've always been surrounded by noise. Constant... constant... noise. But it never bothered me because that's what you'd expect from being immersed in the world of music. And from the loving fans. And it's what I expect from the fans who love me a little too much. However, I never minded the noise. I lived for it. I lived for the drum. I lived for that voice. I lived for those keys. I lived for that acoustic chord. I lived for my bass guitar.

Thirteen years ago, I joined this group. I think I was just attracted to his fervor. The way he sounded so enthusiastic. The way his blue eyes lit up every time he talked about the success we could have. It didn't take long for him to convince me that this was the best thing ever. That joining Fozzy was the best decision I ever made. But—

This silence tells me otherwise. Or maybe it's the haze of the slowly rising smoke that's screwing up my thoughts.

**Nonetheless,** I didn't always like him. I still don't. Maybe. But, the fact is I didn't always like him. I didn't like the way he was always in my face. I didn't like the way he smiled. Actually, I still hate that smile. It's always happy. No matter what the world does to him, he always bounces back with harder fists and that smile. I thought a lot about wiping it off. Maybe I could beat him down to the point where he could no longer hold that smile. But then it hit me like a freight train—

_/When did I start noticing it?/_

**We** were just years apart. That's what makes it worse you know. He's older by two years. That fact just makes it more wrong. That and fact that I still don't like him. Or that smile. Either way though, we joined Chris Jericho and his buddy Adam on their quest for fame. He brought in a friend named Matt Hardy. A quite guy with unparalleled vocal and guitar skills. I liked Matt. I like brunettes. But silence... I hate silence.

Like this one. This silence that has been going on for who knows how long.

So Matt and I never were. And now, while I'm here stuck thinking about our past, he hasn't said a word. He hasn't smiled either. There was a time when we were all sharing a hotel room, and he decided to liven everyone up by modeling in an ill-fitted Afro, and jock strap and a pair of bright yellow heels. And he gave us a mismatched freestyle. Every now and again that memory makes me smile. But it was then that I knew. It was then that I understood why he was always there for me. Why he gave a damn when no one else would.

He wanted something I couldn't give. And maybe I still can't. Because he's not a brunette. Because I don't love him. Because I hate his smile.

**Fozzy **grew successful and soon WWE Music Productions – the giant of all production houses – signed us to its label. We were given a ten year contract. It's something a lot of musicians only dream about. Just three years in and Fozzy became a super power. I bought my first place after our first tour. And I moved a lot of people in only to see them walk out. He came around every once in a while, and he stayed throughout the night. But every morning I'd wake up and he wasn't there. And that's when it started. This silence. So I got someone who would always make noise. And keep this hated silence at bay.

Two weeks ago we were at a party. It was to celebrate the success of our recent one month tour. Chris was looking upset. More than he ever has been. We all figured he was having problems with his young wife. What could you expect? Marrying someone who's over ten years your junior had to lead to problems. It was textbook knowledge. That's why I decided to play it safe and sign off on the whole agenda. But now thirty, I regret doing that. There were many options out there. Options that were better than the one I chose to shack up with.

Cody and I broke up today. He'd found someone else to fill his time. And I was tired of the noise anyway.

But then he walked in. He pried into my new found quiet life and just kept asking questions. Then he started shouting when my eyes started to fill with water. I wasn't sad about my failure with Cody. I was just sad about the realization that not even silence wanted to be with me. But he kept talking. Then he touched my face to show me that smile. And I finally cracked.

**"John" **I know it's futile to call out to him, but the cigarette was dwindling down to nothing as the deafening silence ate up our time. "When are you gonna get up?"

After a long pause, "You shouldn't smoke Randy." He speaks from behind a porcelain expression before finally getting up.

I huff on the last bit of the cigarette before tossing it into the ashtray beside me. I turn to look at him. He's already got his clothes on.

"You're leaving me?"

He scoffs showcasing a brittle dimple. "You'll see me tomorrow at the studio."

I stand up solemnly. I was never the type to hold sentiment to wearing clothes at all the times. "And the day after that?"

He throws a shy smile. It's not happy. It's cheerless. "Yeah. We're performing together."

"And the day after that?" By now I'm standing at an arm's length away from him.

I don't like him. It's something I've always told myself during our decade long friendship. But I never got a reason. And even now – after that noisy moment and then this silent one – I still can't figure out why I don't like John Cena. Maybe it's because he's not brunette. Maybe it's because he's always bouncing back. And then it hits me like a freight train.

I don't want him to bounce back. I never have. And it's because I know that he will – because I know that he'll be able to smile the next day, and the day after that – that I've come to dislike him. And that smile.

But I won't allow him to bounce back after this. I won't allow him to carelessly smile away. I won't stop until he can no longer muster up the strength to be happy without me.

"You're just being immature now Randy." He states bluntly. His decadent smile gone. "I'll be here, alright."

"But now you're going to leave me. Because of what I did."

"Randy" He stops for a breath. "This was just— Look, just believe that it was all a case of you wanting a shoulder to cry on, and me taking advantage of that okay?"

"If I don't believe that, what will you do?"

Cena looks at me in desperate confusion. "I'll never speak to you again." He replies with another voice.

I take the moment to nod. "See you tomorrow then."

His smile comes back. I then realize that this won't be easy. I have my work cut out for me. "Yeah." And then he's gone. Leaving behind this damned silence.

**I **think it's time I practiced on my guitar.


	4. The Band: The Drummer

**POV #3**

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"_**I** don't like blonds."_

That statement wasn't directed at me. It was directed at Adam in response to a question he had asked my best friend, Randy Orton. And it was an answer that spelled the death bell for me.

There aren't too many things in my life that I can say I'm...what's the word?...ashamed? Yeah. There aren't too many things that I've done in my life that I can say that I'm ashamed of. It all comes with the territory. A man with my kind of pride would never do things that warrant shame.

Well...that was until two weeks ago.

**I**n the beginning, Randy Orton and I were never friends. It's not like we hated each other, it's just that I was the A student, the teacher's pet, the voice of the freshmen, and the most beloved amongst my peers...While I was all of these things, Randy was simply a tyrant. If trouble ever had a name, it was surely Randy Keith Orton, and by design I stayed away from him out of the thought that he bullied people just because he could.

I was wrong.

In our graduating year of High School, I was treated to the sight that started it all. Not our friendship; our...shame. Actually, it's my shame, but I think it's only fair to say that possibly Randy feels a sense of shame for me too – I tarnished my pride and our friendship – hence making it "our" shame.

I haven't confirmed the truth of that yet...but...

Randy was sitting on the stage in our High School gym. The school band had already finished their practice, and Randy decided to stay back a few minutes to perfect his craft. If anyone ever lived for a talent, Randy Orton was born for the sole purpose of playing the bass guitar. He never once practiced because ever since birth, he was just able to play that instrument with the sort of skill many famed guitarists take years to accomplish.

My mistake was probably opening the door and seeing him play all by his lonesome atop that stage. In that moment, the image of Randy holding his guitar across his lap and strumming idly away at the strings burnt deep into the core of my eyes. It's an image I have yet to forget.

But...sadly, it's an image that's been washed over by my shameful act.

**W**e moved on to University, and from there we became friends. At first, Randy wouldn't say much and it began to worry me that maybe I was talking too much and therefore stepping on any chance he had to speak. In time Randy put those fears aside by saying this:

"_I like hearing you John." He cracked a small, thin smile. "You always manage to clear my mind." _

That was the moment I fell in love with Randy Orton. Or rather...now that I have the chance to think about it...that was the moment I realized that I was in love with Randy Orton.

And that's something I'm ashamed of. But, it's sadly something that pales in comparison to...well...my actions.

**B**arely a year into our University tenure, a graduate by the name of Chris Jericho came around looking for band-mates. I didn't take much to Chris – his attitude then reeked of a man focused on solely gaining laurels at the cost of everyone else – but it would take a deaf man to not realize the talent Jericho has in his voice. Truthfully, even after I witnessed that talent, I did not comply to joining this group until Adam Copeland – a man I love to hate, but respect nonetheless ...he was a second year– convinced me otherwise.

And alas, out came Fozzy. Randy and I have toured the world times over together –he as the adored bassist, and I as the lovable/hated drummer – and on one night I decided to step outside my boundaries. I knew there was no hope for him and me, but I did it anyways.

**A** few months ago the band hit a rough patch. Album sales were on the rocks, and WWE was looking to boot us right then and there. Being the designated clown of the group, I dressed up in what could only be described as the most ridiculous outfit in history, made my band mates smile, and in the heat of it all...I kissed Randy Orton.

I knew right then and there that what I did was a mistake, but thanks to the fact that I was acclaimed by the others as "stone drunk", I had something to blame that stupidity on. This time however, I've only got myself to blame.

This time...well, this time I clearly saw the line, and crossed it.

"_**I** don't like blonds."_

Of all the things that can come to mind at this particular moment, I have to wonder why the hell that has. As if standing in front of this door is not enough, I'm downplaying myself into an even deeper hole.

"Are you gonna come in sometime today?" His cool tone – so blasé and unaffected by the shameful sight of me – drags me into his world. I then realize that I am standing in the open doorway of Randy Orton's house.

And for some reason, I've forgotten why or how I came here.

Nevertheless, I walk in. For reasons I refuse to try and comprehend – knowing full well that they're far out of my reach – Randy is wearing nothing except for a loose-fitted pair of jeans. That tanned torso is already sending my mind to places it doesn't want to go...I mean, after all, it has been two weeks since I last saw him.

It is not his fault. After we had sex, I got up and told him to write it off as a tragic case of "me taking advantage of a saddened you". He agreed to it, and let me be. I told him I'd see him the next day, but come on. Who was I kidding? There was no way in hell I was going to be able to just forget our one night together, and go back to the class of being just friends. There was no way I was going to honestly look him in the eye and not want more.

There was no way I could ever again smile so carelessly around him.

"Why did you come, John?"

That wasn't fair, I thought, seeing that I had yet to figure out why the hell I dragged my sorry ass over here. I search my brain for some explanation. Some wondrous, and to-be-taken-seriously reason as to why I was here when for two straight weeks I went against my word and never showed up on the tomorrow and days-after-that.

I choose to shrug. My shoulders have never felt heavier.

Randy scoffs a bit, and simply stares at something on the floor. There's a small smile cracking his face right now, but it's not the usual order of arrogance. It looks like I feel. It looks disappointed.

"Right." He states bluntly. "Then let me ask you this John." His eyes slide slowly back up to me, and tangles my own pair of blues in that icy stare. "Why didn't you come? Why, even though you said you would, didn't you show up the next day? And the day after that?" In one move he's now literally an eyelash-length away from me. His eyes are staring into mine with the intent to dissect. "Why didn't you come, John?"

"I...I uh..." I shift my gaze quickly to the left as if something suddenly appeared there, and then look back at him when my thoughts return. "I couldn't come back." Is that really the best I can do? Is that really the reason? I don't know, and by the looks of things, Randy knows that truth as well. "I'm sorry."

"Well..." His voice grates hard against the back of his throat. "...that's too bad because I don't want an apology John." He slightly tilts his head and I follow the movement with my eyes. It brings a sort of sadistically pleased look to his face. "So tell me...why did you come here?"

I still can't answer that question. The two week hiatus that saw me meditating on my past in order to fix my present never did provide me with the answer I was looking for. Then again, maybe the question was never right. Maybe I should never have been looking at the how to fix this, but rather I should have asked "Why do I need to fix this?" Or better yet:

**D**oes this really need fixing?

In that moment I realize something. I am a man filled with pride. I'm filled up so much with that pride that I even take pride in that fact. However, even the proud can fall. Even the proud has to somehow succumb to the pressure of shame. But...it's not the shame that the proud should look upon. Rather, they should look at what's considered shame to others, and then see if it matches what's considered shame to them.

Randy never once considered what I did as a shameful act, so why did I?

"I came here to fix us." He throws me a slightly raised eyebrow. "Our friendship is tarnished Randy" Where was I getting this strength from? "...and honestly I thought it was destroyed, but I came back because I don't believe that to be true anymore."

"Really?" Randy asks through that sieve of a tone. "So what do you believe John? What's the truth now?"

I draw in a sort of deep breath in order to rally my thoughts. "I believe that our friendship evolved. What I did isn't the thing that killed our friendship...it's the thing that pushed our friendship beyond its borders and turned it into something else."

He straightens himself and gives me a high smile. I have no idea what it means, and instead I take the silence as a means to continue.

"Truth is, I came back to tell you something I should have said the day I woke up next to you. Arguably, it's something I should have said a long time ago, but when I think about it...no matter what I could have changed, I'd never have the guts to say in the past." Contrary to the former minutes, my eyes are now focused steadily on Randy. "I don't regret what I did. I don't regret taking advantage of you, and I certainly don't regret being in love with you for all these years. So..." I pause for a moment to allow my mind to catch up on things "since we aren't just friends anymore, I thought it was best to start anew."

To this Randy gives a look of confusion. I can't blame him. I'm still asking where these words are coming from.

I take a step back – mainly to get away from all that heat he's exuding – and hold out my right hand. "Hi. My name is John Cena." Randy continues to look confused. I continue to look serious. "I know you're not fond of blonds, but for the longest time I've been in love with you. And now I no longer want to just be friends with you." The smile I found difficult to muster for two weeks comes back the moment I see the small smile slowly etch across Randy's face. "I want to be with you Randy. And I am no longer ashamed to say that."

**I**, John Cena, drummer for the band Fozzy, am a man of extreme pride and unmatched strength, but right now I'm trying my utmost hardest not to shake myself out of my skin.

Randy Orton simply stares at me before grabbing my hand and pulling me to him. He throws me a long hug.

And I return the favor.


	5. The Band: The Guitarist

**POV #4**

* * *

**J**eff Hardy is not my problem.

Before I continue with this..."talk"...I think it's only fair that I make one thing known. I am not the lead guitarist/second vocalist of the band Fozzy. That would be Matt Hardy, and I assure you, I am _not_ Matt Hardy. I'm just the guy sharing an apartment with Matt's little brother, Jeff.

It's been two years now, by the way.

I digress.

**J**eff has a problem. A drug problem. It started before I agreed to room with him, and it's been getting worse with each passing day. Before, I could tell when Jeff was high. I mean he just fit the bill in that respect. Now? Now...

I can't tell the difference anymore.

I'm sure the other guys who've had this..."talk"...have probably said a lot about their lives and the lives of their loved ones, but that's not what I'm going to do. What I'm going to do is talk about Jeff Hardy. And in the best way, I'll try and include Matt. Yeah. I'll try _real_ hard.

**T**he time Jeff asked me to move in with him and share the rent was around the same time that he and Matt were on some sort of rocky path. I never pry, right, so I didn't ask him the obvious questions like:

_"Why do you leave so early only to come back so late, and look even more fucked up than you did when you left?"_

Or...

_"Why are you always crying at the door when I open it to let you in?"_

Or...

_"Why do you stink of sex?"_

I never asked him any of those questions because quite frankly I'm a smart guy. And smart guys always have the answer to those kind of questions. And my answer was Matt Hardy.

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate Matt for what he's apparently doing to his brother, but at the same time, I don't like it. I can't like it.

But listen to this:

I don't even know it is.

Funny huh? Well, there's my reason for not butting into Jeff's life. I turned a blind eye to his drug problems, and over time I've turned a blind eye to his questionable visits to his brother every weekend for the past two years. However, soon I got a little bit curious over the one question I couldn't conjure up an answer to. And that was:

_"Hey Jeff." He looks at me - with a polite smile on his face - from over the rise of sofa. It's a crappy hand-me-down, but it's a sofa nonetheless. "Why don't you live with Matt?"_

_His smile drops, and he turns back to the even crappier TV. "Why does it matter?" _

_I kind of see that attitude coming. Jeff doesn't like questions, yet he always has them to ask. "Well," I start with my attention focused on the chopping of the carrots "rent here is expensive right? I mean that's why you needed a roommate to split the bill. So," I throw the chopped orange vegetable into the pot of boiling water "all I'm wondering is why don't just save yourself the cash and go live with him. Or at least you shouldn't be working seeing that he's this big rock star and all."_

_Jeff scoffs loudly before bringing his eyes to me. "What makes you think he'd want me around him?" No answer. More questions. That's the style of Jeff Hardy. _

_I sigh heavily while placing the metal lid onto the pot to seal in the heat. "Forget it man. It's none of my business." _

That was the second time in two years that I had asked Jeff that question, and that is the one time he gave me something of an answer. I never had siblings, right, so I don't know how sibling love works, therefore I can't even say anything about Jeff's "answer". However, deep down I knew something was wrong.

**I** was wrong.

I was wrong to believe that Matt and Jeff had brotherly love, and Jeff's situation was all thanks to his daredevil lifestyle.

It wasn't.

It was all thanks to Matt not wanting Jeff around.

But...maybe I'm wrong about that too. Right?

**A** couple of weeks ago Jeff gets invited by Matt to join in on Fozzy's celebration party at a five star club. Jeff asks me to go with him - his reason being that he would feel out of place and such - and seeing that I had nothing else to do that Saturday, I agreed. We got there on time, and for the first time ever, I see what Matt Hardy looks like. On Google, they only had all the older pictures of when he was seventeen and green. Now he wasn't some young guppy. Right in front of me stood a man I could share a beer with (if I drank) and talk to about life - life that he'd actually understand.

In short, I respected Matt Hardy on that night.

He gave Jeff a long hug and was all smiles when he saw his younger brother. He asked him how he was doing. If he was eating right. Sleeping right. Was he off the drugs? Okay. Well at least you don't take them every day like you used to, was what he said when Jeff answered no. Speaking of Jeff, did I mention that he was smiling and blushing beyond belief the whole time? No. Well, he was. I wrote it off - the blushing part - as being the light striking his red hair that had a few strands neatly hanging over his face.

The evening went on nicely. I met the rest of Fozzy. Chris Jericho seemed aloof and to himself. In the later parts of the night he was on his phone every second, and soon he was gone. Randy - the bassist - was flirting with everything in sight. Actually, everything in sight was flirting with him, and he just wasn't doing anything to stop it. I liked Randy. He seemed smart enough to hold a debate with me. John Cena...wow. For the entirety of the night, John was staring at Randy. Maybe he was a secret boyfriend to the bassist? I didn't ask. However, just when I was giving that a second thought, I felt a pair of daggers staring right into me. They were coming from a diagonal slate right behind me. They were coming from Adam Copeland - the pianist. I looked at him and he unflinchingly looked back. However, soon his eyes went over to his own left. And I followed them to land on Jeff and Matt.

There was a...how do I put it?...lovey-dovey feeling polluting the air that surrounded them. It was like they didn't even have to touch each other to portray that. Indeed they were just sitting side by side on the chair on the balcony and just talking. Yet, for some reason, myself - and Adam - knew otherwise.

I watched Jeff for...wow...probably over an hour now that I think about it, and then eventually realized something I had failed to realize in the many months I spent living under the same roof with him. I never saw Jeff smile like that before. Hell...I've never seen Jeff Hardy so...

Happy.

I turned away and focused on other things. The club music. The bartender's skillful work. The chatter around. The dancing. Anything. However, in under five minutes, my eyes were back on Jeff. And this time, they just wouldn't stop staring.

Needless to say, the party ended in the waking hours of the morning. Adam offered Matt a ride home since the brunette was drunk, but Jeff politely declined it and told him that he'd take Matt home. Was that fire coming out of Copeland's eyes? I guessed so. Anyways, Adam informed Jeff that he too was under the influence, so I did a stupid thing. I intervened. And so I ended up taking Jeff and Matt "home".

The entire ride was uncomfortable. Matt was hopelessly clinging to Jeff and Jeff was just smiling away while gently running his fingers through Matt's long curly hair. He looked at peace and in content. I looked away before he caught me staring. We had arrived at the house. Jeff and I got the sloppy drunk out of the car and I held him upright while Jeff opened the door. How sad is it that I felt a cringe in my stomach when Jeff effortlessly punched in the codes to both neutralize the alarms and open the front door?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

Anyways, let me cut to the chase. After laying Matt onto his bed, Jeff handed me a few dollars out of his wallet, smiled politely and told me that he'd call me a cab. I left...without Jeff Hardy.

**T**wo days passed. Maybe three. Who knows? Jeff came back and he was crying his eyes out...again. I realized how pathetic it was. Not the crying. Rather, the fact that I waited in the apartment for three days straight all in hopes that Jeff would return yet again without his keys. He did. And for the first time I was happy about it.

Back to the issue. Jeff was crying his eyes out. I gathered his limp body - that stunk of sweat, salt, dirt, drugs, and yes...sex -and placed it lightly on our crappy sofa.

Our?

Sorry. I meant "the".

The crappy sofa.

Whatever.

**I** got him some chicken soup - the light kind; his favourite - and basically spoon fed him until he was able to sit up on his own and feed himself. His red hair - red when I last saw him - was now a light pink. The effects of cheap dye. A couple of disobedient strands hung over his face, and instinctively, I brushed them back behind his ear. I reacted badly to my own movement by yanking my hand back down so hard I figured I must have pulled something. Jeff didn't even notice it. He just kept sipping away. After what seemed like an eternity, I decided to ask him the obvious question:

"Where were you Jeff?"

He looks over at me before staring into his barely finished bowl of soup. "Nowhere."

I sigh heavily. At this point, I know I'd probably say "forget it. It's none of my business", but for some reason, I don't want to. "You were at Matt's."

His shoulders slump. His voice downs to a painful whisper. "I don't wanna talk about it."

I do. But...I won't. So instead, I reach for the short blanket and hang it lightly over his shoulders. "Eat up. Your soup's getting cold."

**D**amn it.

I thought this story wasn't going to be so long. I honestly thought that I would best everyone else and give a mere synopsis rather than a flipping autobiography. Whatever. I guess it's better this way. I guess no one would understand what happened last night if I didn't go out and give a history lesson.

**L**ast night, Matt Hardy came to the apartment.

He was mad with Jeff. I tried to tell him that Jeff was in no mood to talk, but apparently, Jeff was in the mood. Just not in the mood to talk to me. I expected Jeff to tell me to get out. Give he and his brother some time alone. However, he didn't. And neither did Matt. Instead they both started talking. Or something like that:

_"What the hell Jeff? Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Matt roared. I watched the spectacle from the comfort of the sofa._

_"I'm sorry Matt. I just thought..."_

_"Thought what?" Matt all but screams at his brother. I felt like stepping in and telling him to lay off, but then I notice that Matt's crying. What the hell happened? "Thought that I'd think less of you if you didn't tell me? Thought that I would hate you?"_

_Jeff hangs his head. "Matt, I just couldn't" His voice low. "I didn't want you to find out the truth."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Because..." His voice breaks a bit. He raises his head to show us all that he's now in tears. "Because I knew that you'd never want me again! I knew that!"_

_"So you lied to me?" Matt's voice downs to something vicious. Betrayed even. "You led me on this whole time, and made me believe that it was all my fault when...when it wasn't?"_

_"Matt" Jeff reached forward. His brother moved back with that look of disbelief and hurt etched onto his face. "Matty listen...I'm so sorry!" His voice fades in and out beneath the blanket of tears and sobs. I feel like hugging him to ward off the pain. But the look in his eyes tell me that right now, he'd rather bear it alone. "I'm so sorry. I love-"_

_"Don't!" Matt shouts again. A frown is on his face now. "Don't say that!"_

_Jeff clings visibly to the word before letting it out in a loud breath. "Matt-"_

_"Stop calling my name!" He shouts again while taking a few steps back. "Don't..." He looks to the ground beside him before looking back up angrily at Jeff. "Don't you dare call my name again." His face tenses but those tears keep falling down. "You don't deserve it anymore."_

All I can think of right now is how hard those words have hit Jeff. When I look to him, I know the truth.

They've hit him hard.

Matt turns violently on his heels and heads to the door. He opens it and looks a bit over his shoulder. He looks caught between speaking and leaving, but soon, he turns away and leaves.

We haven't see Matt since then.

**T**wo months have passed by and Fozzy apparently is being holed up in their recording studio. They have been for some time now. Recent news state that it's because they are working on something big. Something that will propel them past the top into a zone now other music idol has ever reached before.

Anyways, thanks to the news, Jeff now knows where to find his brother. For two months he's been rattling his brain for ways to speak to Matt and apologize for whatever they were arguing about - yeah, I still don't know because I refuse to ask - but every time he's come up cold turkey. Being the good roommate, I offer my services to make the process somewhat easier...but deep down, I'd much rather Jeff forget about Matt. But like I said -

I wouldn't know anything about sibling love - aside from the fact that it seems to resemble the vivid patterns of insanity.

**F**riday comes along, and Jeff sits down and writes a three page letter to Matt. I leave him alone, and give him space to think. Yeah. I am curious as to what that letter says, but I convince myself not to read it.

I was never any good at convincing.

Jeff decides to take a day off tomorrow and go see Matt - to hand him the letter and bury the hatchet. The night before that, I spot the letter on our hand-me-down dining table. And of course, I read it:

_"Dear Matt._

_I don't know where to start expect at I'm sorry. That's not enough - I know - but I think you'll understand everything better if I just tell you the story from the beginning. _

_I have always been in love with you...outside of brotherly love."_

I stop for a second. Gather my conscience. And keep reading.

_"Yeah. Disgusting I know. Anyways, I was in love with you Matt. You were always there for me, and you'd always protect me and keep me safe. I could always turn to you when the going got tough - and it did - and you'd never turn away. You'd just be there with open arms and a warm smile, and the truth is...I've never felt more at home. _

_Years passed Matt, and I grew more affectionate. I grew more in love with you. And then, I decided one day to make you mine. To keep you with me so that you would never go away. I think it happened the day I saw you with Lita. I knew that if I didn't do something quick, then you'd be gone and be in love with someone else. You'd protect someone else, and you'd smile like that with someone else. I didn't want that, so I got desperate. _

_What Adam told you was true. You never took my virginity, it was gone before the twelfth grade. Let's just leave the story behind it at mistake. And to Adam's credit, I did lie about taking those drugs to forget the night you took me by force. You did...but, I planned the whole thing. I did drug you Matt, and I pushed you over the edge to force your hand to hurt me. I wanted to do it because I knew once you had that on your conscience you would never leave me. You could never leave me. _

_At first the plan worked. I had you just like I wanted. But, somewhere along the way I got greedy. I was filled with a sense of superiority that had me thinking I owned you. Thinking that I could make or break you. Maybe I was right, but who cares? The fact is I kept leading you on, promising a life together, and making you fall in love while making you simultaneously hate the fact that you were. I took pleasure in breaking you Matt. I took pleasure using you and that planned mistake as an excuse for my drug addiction and my "fear". _

_It hurts to write this Matt, but the truth hurts right. I'm sorry Matt. I don't know...actually, I know you can't ever forgive me for the years of torment I put you through, and for the false guilt that I placed on your head. But, I can at least hope that as those years distance themselves in your mind, so will your rightful hatred of me. And then, maybe you can forgive me. You don't have to ever say it to my face. I don't deserve that. But, I hope that for your sake, that you can just forget about me and what I did to you. And then you can maybe forgive the guy named Jeff. _

_Anyways, this letter is the last time you'll hear from me. This is it Matt. I promise to live a clean life. I promise to never again wear the Hardy name with pride. Not until you've forgotten about me. But, as for right now, I just thought I'd say I'm sorry, and I hope you know that I understand that this will never make the pain go away. That I know that sorry will never be enough. But sadly, I don't know anything else. _

_So Matt, I'm sorry. _

_Have a wonderful life._

_Sincerely,_

_Jeff. "_

**I**t's Saturday. I had work, but...I just can't bring myself to let Jeff go out and do this alone. He's asking Matt to forget about him. To live a life where he must believe that he's never had a younger brother. It's commendable, but for his sake, I hope Matt never sees it like that.

We wait outside of Fozzy's studio until night fall. Eventually people start filing out. The entire group - minus its lead singer - appears in the front lot. I look to Jeff and he's doing what I thought he'd be doing. He's shaking like a leaf. I stare the letter - enveloped now and sealed - and feel a sense of regret creep up when I think about having read it. It was something personal, I just had to pry.

I just had to know what the answers to the obvious questions were. And now I did.

Matt eventually shows up. Jeff retreats into the shadow behind us, and I follow suit. We can still see them, but it doesn't work both ways. Matt stops for a second and looks around. The idea that he caught us crosses my mind, and it becomes frighteningly closer to reality when his eyes land on the corner we're standing in. He then smiles and I can feel Jeff's heart sink when we notice the reason behind it.

Adam appears in our line of sight and straps an arm around Matt's waist. He playfully buries his face in the side of Matt's neck and Matt let's out a small laugh. I glance over to Jeff. The letter he had clutched to his chest is now hanging lifelessly to his side. His eyes aren't on Matt anymore. They're on the ground. I reach out to say something when a face pops up in front of us.

"Hey Jeff!" It's Cena. "What are you doing here in the dark?"

Jeff looks at him bewildered and frantically looks over to Matt. I hear a sigh of relief escape when he realizes that the brunette and blonde are simply getting into the car, oblivious. He smiles weakly at John. "Uh...nothing, I just..."

"Did you come to see Matt?" Damn Cena for his mind-reading abilities. He turns to the direction of the still there older Hardy. "Hey! Ma-"

"No!" Jeff shouts to stop Cena. John looks at him confused before dropping a glance to the envelope stuck in Jeff's hand. When his blue eyes come back to Jeff's face, a sense of sad realization is stuck in them.

"Jeff, is there something wrong?"

Jeff shakes his head. "No...just don't worry about it." I've heard that voice before. And it still hurts to hear it.

"Do you want to deliver that?" John asks almost too seriously.

Jeff looks at the letter in his hand and so do I. Part of me wants Matt to see that letter, and heed to it's underlining instructions. However, another part of me knows that despite having no knowledge of how sibling love works...it would be the end of Jeff Hardy should his brother erase his existence from memory.

Jeff goes to reply, but I intervene. Maybe it's because I sensed that Jeff was going to say something close to yes. And maybe, on top of that, I knew he'd come to regret it. "No." I smile a bit to Jeff and then John. "Don't worry about it Cena. He'll drop it off in the mail later on."

Jeff stares at me a bit surprised. John shrugs and believes my answer.

"Okay." He states plainly. "See you around Jeff."

Jeff nods. Cena leaves.

I let out a long breath before looking at the empty lot ahead. For some reason my eyes won't go to Jeff. Maybe he was mad? Maybe my answer gave way to the truth about me having read his letter? Either way, I am not going to chance looking lest my looking be the reason he finds out an even bigger truth.

The one about me falling in love with him.

**A** slight night breeze passes over us and lingers awhile before going away.

"I'm cold." Jeff states from my right. I look at him - his eyes are on the ground - and hand him my jacket in one go.

"Here." He looks up at me, and I offer a smile. "It'll keep you warm." I sigh when he replies with nothing and rake back my hair in an attempt to hide my nervousness. Sibling love is confusing, but it pales in comparison to what I'm feeling now. "Well then." I state for no reason before turning to face him. "Let's go home."

His eyes widen a bit. I can't tell what that means, and then he turns away only to speed walk ahead of me. The act confuses me a bit, but I smile it off. I can still see him clutching that letter, but I know it's only a matter of time before he let's it go.

Maybe he might deliver it to Matt. Maybe he'll just tear it up and throw it away in a passing breeze.

Either way really is none of business, but the fact that I'm even thinking about it tells me one thing.

**J**eff Hardy is now my problem. And it's all because I want him to be.


	6. The Band: The Pianist

**POV #5**

* * *

**R**remember March 16th? No. I do. It marks the fifteenth day before I met a guy named Matt Hardy. But at that time... March 16th...I just never knew who he was.

**T**hey say love has a soft melody that can easily be played through the keys of a piano. However, to do that, the pianist must have the skill to play the piano, and most importantly, a full knowledge of love.

I have skill.

I have no knowledge.

What's my problem? Well... aside from the fact that I'm being subject to this talk thing on such short notice...it's mainly that I don't really know when I fell in love with Matt Hardy. It feels like I fell for him the first day I met him. That feels logical at least. And I've come to accept it...haven't I?

**T**o be honest here I don't have a lot of time. I'm a busy man see, so don't expect anything too long here -

What?

That's already been said?

By who?

Oh come on! Tell me.

Fine. Whatever.

But believe me...I promise this won't take long because I don't wanna be here, so...anyways.

**I** met Jeff Hardy by accident.

Summary: I was in the final year of University - after having to repeat one time too many - and I was looking for campus resident John Cena. I never lived on campus. I lived in a shitty basement apartment. So of course I didn't know which one of the cookie-cutter buildings belonged to Cena. And naturally, because I didn't know (and because I had lost my phone earlier and thus could not simply contact John), I got lost in the concrete labyrinth.

After about a half hour, I walked into being more lost than before and stumbled upon a deep corner. Which I turned. And stopped turning once my eyes lock onto the sight of a blond getting plundered by a larger guy.

Let me just pause here to say that I did not know Jeff Hardy before, or during this event. I knew him two weeks later.

Anyways, back to the summary. I watched the whole thing happen - curious because prior to I never knew two guys could have sex. It was the main reason why Jay and I fell out really. I just never knew stuff - and eventually the live sex movie ended. When it ended, I stapled myself to the wall of the corner and tried to play possum for as long as I could. It worked. The blond walked right on by and never spotted me - mostly due to the fact that he was fiddling with a phone.

He was slim. Tall, but slim. His muscles were just there for definition. And watching him walk was like watching the sound of two piano keys go off one after the other in a repetitive motion. It soon became hypnotic. So I stood there, pasted to the wall like an idiot, watching the blond swag away until he left out of sight.

I sighed to a relief...but then quickly came to the realization that the phone he had looked awfully a lot like the one I had lost earlier in the day.

**M**y second meeting with Jeff came at the expense of his older brother Matt introducing him to us. This time, the kid had pink hair.

I digress.

Actually... I didn't. That had everything to do with my story. Crap! I'm running out of time.

Okay.

**S**ince there's so much damn interest all of a sudden, let me sum up the reason why I love Matt Hardy. It's because every time someone mentions the name Jeff and said person does or does not appear right then and there (more often not) Matt lights up like a Christmas Tree. He smiles. He laughs. He grows a loveable personality - vastly different from his usual cut dry one - that makes anyone who sees it suddenly wish they were the reason it happened. I see it. And for years I've been wishing that I was the reason for Matt's smile. That I could make him laugh.

That I could mean to him what Jeff Hardy means to him.

Moving along.

I remember a piano class I had once when I was little. My teacher was berating me about my lack of focus. Of course I didn't know what focus had to do with anything because we both knew I was Mozart reincarnate. However, I think I finally found what she meant by:

"If you never learn to look for mistakes, then those mistakes will be your downfall"

At first, for the longest time actually, I looked at Jeff Hardy as simply Matt Hardy's younger, beloved brother. I envied their "perfect" relationship simply because I would have given anything to be in Jeff's position. All the time I spent envying, and admiring... the mistakes finally caught up and kicked me in the shin for good measure.

Matt was suffering from depression. And it went unnoticed for the longest time.

**W**ait...what time is it?

Shit! I've gotta wrap this up.

Um...where was I?

Oh yeah.

**F**or quite some time, Matt would appear at the studio drained of life itself. Generally he looked extremely tired, and many of us simply wrote it off as nothing more than simply the road life getting the best of him. Soon we discovered the true reason.

Summary: Three months ago, Matt never showed up for a practice. Chris took it upon himself to "command" (I basically volunteered) me to go and seek out our lead guitarist. I found him, collapsed on his floor just a few meters ahead of his open door. Panicked, I drove him to the hospital only to learn that the brunette had suffered from serve sleep deprivation. According to his doctor, he apparently had been doing this for a while, but this time he went overboard by not sleeping for a little over five days straight. None of us could come up with a reason for that, so I took the next logical step. I sought out Jeff. And I conceded then more than ever that Jeff Hardy is a ghost.

For about three days I sat at Matt's bed-side waiting for him to wake up. To be quite honest, even though the love of my life was lying in a hospital bed from the effects of no sleep for a prolonged period of time, I smiled a bit seeing as it gave me the time I needed to talk to him and tell him how much he needed to wake up because of how much I wanted him to wake up.

And of how much I loved him.

In those three days, we were still clueless as to why Matt would stay awake on end for so long, and then the answer came when the prodigal son in Jeff Hardy called his brother's phone - from apparently a pay phone seeing that the number began with a one, an eight and two zeros. I answered.

_"Hello?"_

_"Hello? Matt?"_

_"Jeff?"_

_"Yeah." Pause. "Is this Matt?"_

_"No. It's Adam."_

_"Oh hey Adi. Where's Matt?"_

_I looked over to the hospital bed. The one with Matt Hardy lying still on it. I turned away. "He's at the hospital."_

The call ended there. I took the short time to plant a kiss on Matt's forehead before heading out of the room. Jeff occupied it in a matter of short minutes. And very soon, as though he had been waiting all along, Matt woke up. And smiled.

Yeah. It hurt a lot that day. I stood and watched Jeff accomplish in three minutes what I couldn't get done in three days. I knew then that the best thing to do was to simply turn away and give up. But, as I scrolled through Matt's phone later on, I realized that that was not the right thing to do.

_Hey Matty! I heard ur back. So excited :D I'll come by tonight to see you! Luv Jeffy!_

That text was over a week old. In that moment I had discovered Matt's reason for induced insomnia.

**I**t's what time? Oh...damn it... Okay. Let me speed things along here.

**I** never did anything about that text. I simply returned Matt's phone to him and kept mum on the whole reason why Fozzy's lead guitarist had passed out from sleep deprivation. He fed Jericho the line of "The road life caught up to me". And I decided to just eat it like everyone else.

That was it after all. Matt never came to work looking like we all felt. He looked healthier, and for once I thought my teacher was wrong.

How wrong I was.

**I**t didn't take long for those mistakes I chose not to seek out to find me. They found me again. And they threw in Jeff's problem into the mix.

Summary: We had barely nestled back into our beds after a month long national trip, when suddenly my phone rang. Swearing that it was Chris trying to swindle me into some late night meeting again, I ignored it the first two times, but then the third time...well with Chris twice is enough. I answered on the third time.

_"Adam?" A shaky voice caved in. "Help me."_

It's not every day - night in this case - that I hear Matt's voice sound legitimately scared shitless. And it certainly would never happen over the phone at five in the morning. But it did. He had called and all he had to say was help me, and I was in my car speeding to his directions.

I found him, sitting under a bridge in the dark city park, and cradling the limp body of one Jeff Hardy. From what I could decipher, Matt was fine. It was Jeff - ironically - who was out cold and lifeless on this occasion. My instincts told me to leave things be. Let the rival rot. However, no amount of instincts could possibly deny the one blatant fact - Matt Hardy was crying over the lithe body of his brother. It tore at my heart, and for once I did not envy Jeff.

We drove to the hospital - thinking now, those doctors probably were wondering "again?" when I walked in with Matt on my shoulder and a pink-blue hair blonde being carried in my arms...but it's a good thing appearances have never meant shit to me - and dropped Jeff off in the nearest room. The doctor didn't have to examine Jeff much apparently, as in less than five minutes he came to us with the diagnosis.

Jeff Hardy had over dosed.

I was shocked and looked to Matt for shock, only to find anger and this:

_"I know that already!" He shouted - shocking me even further "Just tell me if he's gonna be alright?"_

_The doctor - after climbing over the hill of shock that apparently he and I now shared - spoke solemnly "Yes. He'll be fine. Some rest will do him well right now."_

It was on that night that I found out the true nature of Jeff Hardy. He was a drug addict - in short - and according to Matt -

_"Jeff takes those drugs to numb him to the pain I've caused him." He stated with his eyes still raking the bend of his knees. "I don't really remember much of what happened that day. I mean one minute we were just drinking and watching the game. And then the next" He hesitated to draw in a shaky breath. "The next I was on top of him. Blood was everywhere" His hands shook a bit in the fists they encased. "Teeth marks and nail marks were all over his body. His nose was broken. His hair was matted to his face. Everything just stunk of..." He breathed heavily again before bringing his chin up and sliding those brown eyes over to me. "I took Jeff's innocence away from him, and pushed him to turn to those damned drugs for comfort." After being filled to the brim, a tear managed to break free, and roll bumpily down Matt's face. His expression contorted heavily with pain. "When did I stop being his brother -" A few more tears escaped to stain the hard terrain of Matt's face - and choked the life out of his sentence momentarily. Soon, my expression began to mirror his. I could just feel it. "When did I turn into this?"_

**N**eedless to say, I had no answers. And maybe it was because of that that I kept our conversation a secret for so long. I just couldn't tell anybody. It just never felt right to do so.

Matt stayed by Jeff for the weeks that followed. He slept - I checked myself - but never for long. Only for a few breath-taking minutes. Then, his eyes would open slowly at first, grabbing at the surroundings for specifics, only to move on to the face of Jeff Hardy. And crave up a smile onto his.

**J**ealous? Was I jealous? Is that even a question? Of course I was. I've always been jealous. Matt loved Jeff more than I could ever hope or want or need. Hell...right now I'm thinking he loves Jeff more than I love him. And if that's the case,

What kind of a chance do I have?

I was damn jealous of Jeff Hardy alright. But never once did I ever want to be him, because beneath all the fluffiness and prettiness of their relationship laid a small lie. It was the base of the crack that spread between them and eventually served to break them apart. A crack that came in the form of a secret one man kept and the other - secretly - knew.

I knew why Matt felt obligated to Jeff. I knew why he loved Jeff. And I knew that his reasons held no merit on their own.

**J**eff Hardy was a farce. An illusion. A vagary of perception. He was a construct in Matt Hardy's mind - sort of like the kind I think of when I'm trying to come up with the essence of music - that was built around a fabricated piece of ideology.

In other words, Jeff Hardy was not what Matt Hardy thought him to be. And I knew that. At the hospital I never told Matt the truth. Why...I don't know to this day. However, I can't say the same about a week ago. A week ago didn't happen at that hospital with Jeff on death's door. It happened at Matt Hardy's home. It happened when I finally decided to drive a stake through Jeff's black heart.

**S**ummary: Matt was sitting on his couch. Not causally. Rather he had lost all sense of balance and collasped without discretion. Luckily, his couch was right there to catch him because I was too far away to even try.

Jeff was standing ahead of him. He looked genuinely panicked. Frightened by what just came to life. The lie that he had built himself and Matt upon had finally cracked through and shattered their "perfect world".

Me. I was standing at the door. It had an automatic swing so when it opened it closed. So the door was closed behind me. I was just standing there feeling the raw effects of what had just transpired finally reach me. It took as long as those mistakes my teacher used to talk about. But when it reached, it hit hard. And here I was. Standing at Matt's closed front door with my face twisted in anger, my body titled forward as if set to sprint immediately, and my once vocal voice, now silenced, as it drowned in the empty pits of my stomach.

At long last, I had told Matt what he had to hear. What Jeff wanted to forget. What I needed to say.

"You lied to me?" Matt asked after what seemed to be an eternity set in stone. His eyes were looking at the ground, but his voice was pinning on Jeff. "You...lied to me?" He repeated as though he were asking himself.

Jeff answered softly. "Matt..." He looked to me with sadness in his eyes. I looked to him void of mercy. His eyes swung back to Matt. "I never..." He stopped. "I never meant for this to happen."

"But... you lied to me." Matt now stated as he looked up at Jeff. The expression on his face...as a musician...can't even be put into words. If a piano were being played right now to describe it, the first key would be the soft hum of the A major. "You said..." He searched the air ahead for words before re-focusing on Jeff. "You said I was your first."

As if set on springs, Jeff slid knees-first towards Matt and placed both hands onto the man's knees. His face pleading. His voice begging. It resembled -to me- the sound of nails on a chalkboard. The kind of sound that makes your whole being cringe in agony and hate.

"Matt" He started through the tears. "Matty, I'm so sorry. I just couldn't" He stopped. Gathered. Continued. "I just couldn't let you find out. I didn't want you to find out. Please, please forgive me." He sobbed a bit. Matt just continued to stare ahead. Not even recognizing the fact that his brother was now on his knees begging for something I don't think he's worthy of.

But who was I to say that? To think that? Who the hell was I to tell Matt about my first meeting with Jeff Hardy? Who was I to break up the lie that Jeff had built his house upon?

Well...I was simply Adam Copeland. And I was in love with the man that Jeff tried to poison. And kill.

"Matty, please" He had started talking again. "Please forgive me. I'm so sorry" He brought his forehead onto Matt's bent knee. "I'm so sorry." He squeezed the words through a whimper. "I'm so sorry."

This.

All I could think at that moment was one single thing: This was the relationship that I have envied for so long.

This was what I wanted. To mean to Matt as much as Jeff meant to Matt.

And now...now what did he mean to him? What does Jeff Hardy still mean to Matt Hardy?

I don't know. I still don't know.

Matt sat there, on that couch, for more minutes than I have left to speak here. He simply continued to stare ahead but both Jeff and I knew that he wasn't looking at the wall of his kitchen. He was looking to places in the past. A past that was once bright, but slowly - and painfully - it was being stained with a bottomless color of black.

Jeff soon got up. At first he just backed away slowly. And then his pace quickened and before he knew it, he had reached my unforgiving stare. His blue eyes locked wildly with mine. I could sense a small rage building rapidly beneath them, however it didn't amount to anything. Jeff simply by-passed my blockade of a body and flung open the door, and did what he was best at.

He ran away. And left behind a broken brother. And a consequenced man.

**Y**eah. So that's why I'm in such a rush okay. I haven't spoken to Matt...hell I haven't spoken to anyone since that day. In the latter parts of that incident, Matt finally came to when I went over to console him. But like always, he wasn't interested in seeing me - the one who stood by him all this time - but rather he was more interested in chasing a ghost. In finding Jeff Hardy. So he got up, and he left.

And shortly afterwards, so did I.

**D**amn it. This wasn't supposed to be so long, but my hand's been forced. I can't help it. When it comes to Matt, I could fill a book.

Maybe ten.

Twenty even. But does that seriously matter?

Whatever.

**L**ook, this is the end okay. There's nothing more to hear here alright. I left. And now I'm holing myself up in my apartment waiting for the damn movers to get here already.

Randy came by once. How ironic...I know...but I didn't let him in. I just continued to knock away at the keys of my piano. For some reason I've been unable to play it properly because every time I touch a key or strike a melody, my heart...right here...hurts. It hurts a lot.

But anyways, Randy came by. Oh. I already said that? Well, nothing special happened. He just came by, told me to get over myself, then told me that he and gang missed me. And then left.

How long do I plan to stay here like this? How would I know? Why would you-?

Hold on. Someone's at the door. If it's Chris I might feel more willing to open the door lest he break it down.

"**H**ello?" I think my voice could use some water. "Who is it?"

"Adam?" The voice stops me just one step shy of the door. "Adam it's Matt. Open up."

/Shit!/ If this is panic then I'm panicking hard right now. /Shit!/ "Uh...Matt." Trying to sound calm during the storm of a panic never really works does it? "H-How...um...w-what are you doing h-here?"

"I heard you were planning to move." I can clearly hear him sigh on the other side. "I came by to apologize."

"A-Apologize?" Am I seriously going to keep stuttering? "Why are you-?"

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come by and...speak to you face to um..." I opened the door to see him standing there, barely eyeballing me with that shy expression on his face. His hair is caught up roughly into a ponytail - it looks shorter than the last time I saw it - and his dress-wear oozes of casual. This was the Matt Hardy I knew. And this was the Matt Hardy I loved.

Love. Still love.

"Matt" I exhale steadily. "I'm sorry I snapped like that. I just couldn't stand..." Wow. Seven days of be at peace and all I have to do is look at Matt Hardy and think of Jeff at the same time to lose the cool I thought I had found. "I just couldn't let you continue on in that downward spiral of blame and guilt when I knew for a fact that Jeff-" Matt's expression brightens a bit just to the sound of Jeff's name. "Matt you..." I swallow a few choice words "Do you still love him?"

It hurts to ask, but what else was I going to say? Matt obviously still cares for Jeff. I lost this game. And good losers don't whine about losing.

"I" Matt looks away a bit to gather his thoughts before bringing those deep, gorgeous eyes back to me. "I don't know." He states solemnly. It makes me regret asking in the first place. "I don't think I'll ever really know. I mean, if I do, then it'd be because of his lies. But if I don't..." He pauses for a while. "then it'll be because of you."

"Because of me?" Was he blaming me now? I deserved it, that much is true, but if he really was...could I ever take it?

"Yeah." He states offhandedly. "I thought about it Adam. I thought about it really hard. I don't understand love. In my mind it's always going to be affixed with the word "obligation". It's always going to be a means of trade and barter. It's never going to mean to me what it means to Jeff. Or you." Yeah. You guessed it. My heart stopped. "So...even though I've spent my entire life fixated on Jeff...even though I've been ignoring you all this time...I just came by to ask you one thing."

"W-What's that?" Damn the stuttering is back!

"Are you still willing to be in love with me, even if I can't trust myself to feel the same?"

/For how long?/

That's the only thing that crossed my mind. For how long have I been in love with Matt Hardy? Years now. Over a decade if I truly think about it. I mean, ever since March 16th, I've been madly in love with the guy named Matt Hardy. It would just take me till now to finally realize that.

So... since that's the case then

"Yes" is my answer.


End file.
